


Our Almost Found Happiness

by backtoblack101



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Communism, F/F, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Red Scare, Sexual Harassment, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backtoblack101/pseuds/backtoblack101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Red Scare gripped the American nation for a decade. It was a time during which families and lives were ripped apart by accusations and rumors. A time in which openly gay men and women were especially targeted for their believed communist ties.</p><p>It was also the time for Carol and Therese to attempt to put the trials and tribulations of the past year behind them and get on with their new life together. The question then is could they ever really have a life together in a world still so set against them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so according to the book I'm currently reading (The Gay Metropolis) during the communist panic in 1950s America queer people were frequently labeled as potential communists because it was believed that queer people would be easy targets for communist infiltration because they were easy to blackmail (bc they were leading secret lives etc etc). So this meant that queer people were either named at HUAAC hearings as known communists because they were easy targets and the more people you named the less trouble you were in (regardless of whether that was true) or if someone was believed to be gay they were snitched on to HUAAC bc, y'know, the gays are gross and all that jazz.
> 
> So really this story was born out of that because there's the odd reference made to HUAAC in the film though it's never really elaborated on and I find it such an interesting aspect of the whole red scare that I never really hear being talked about (then again i'm also Irish so we literally covered the entire red scare in like half a chapter during leaving cert history, so that could be a contributing factor...)
> 
> Also I never really write angsty fics, like at all, so I thought this would be a fun change of pace (that's really more of a disclaimer in case this turns out to be shite, so at least you all know it's not my forte).
> 
> (Also yes, I know, it's a super convoluted summary I've got going on for this story...)

“Purse, keys, lunch?” Carol listed off the items aloud while searching for her scarf – the red one that matched the skirt she was wearing, but was unfortunately also a favourite of Therese’s, meaning it went missing more often than not.

“I’ve got my purse and keys, and I’m meeting you for lunch,” Therese called back. She had an awful habit of running out the door at half seven every morning, just to come creeping back in moments later to retrieve anything she may have forgotten to pack in her handbag. Carol had simply gotten used to running through a check list with her, much like she’d done with Rindy when she’d still been there to see her off to school in the mornings.

“Oh that’s right, you are.” Carol had forgotten today was one of those rare days their work schedule had aligned in such a way as they’d be able to take lunch together. Maybe even get home around the same time, though Therese had been working a lot of overtime recently with the House on Un-American Activities Trials being so frequent and high profile recently.

Perhaps if Therese wasn’t home after Carol had prepared dinner and finished her evening call with Rindy she’d invite Abby around for a few drinks. They’d not seen much of one another outside of work in the past couple of months with Abby having decided it was finally time to settle down with her red head. It was nice to see her friend happy, though Carol had to admit she missed the days when she was free to call on Abby as it suited her, selfish as that may be.

“You don’t mind if I wear your red scarf today do you?” Therese added then as she emerged from their bedroom, pulling Carol from her thoughts.

It was the same red scarf Carol had spent the entire morning looking for, now tied neatly around Therese’s neck.

Carol couldn’t help but smile. “Of course not darling. Looks better on you anyway.” She’d just wear her grey one; it would go just as well with her outfit.

“Okay well I should be going,” Therese muttered, glancing quickly at her leather strapped wrist watch. “If I’m in before half eight I may be able to meet you a little earlier.”

“Are you coming round to the store or will I meet you out somewhere?” Carol pulled on her driving gloves as she spoke and double checked to make sure her keys were where she always left them in her handbag.

“The store,” Therese hummed, in between draining the last gulp of coffee from the mug she’d left on the counter. “I thought we could go to that nice little café down the street?”

Carol shrugged. “Up to you.” She closed over her bag and began walking towards the coat rack in the hall. “Though I do adore their salads.”

“I know you do.” Therese had never really understood the appeal of salads before she started dining out with Carol, though now she was sure they were among her favourite meals to have, if for no other reason than because of the way Carol’s face lit up when she ate a particularly good one.

They both reached for their jackets and put them on silently, Therese being the first to evaluate herself in the hall mirror and deem herself ready to face the day ahead.

“See you later?” She turned to Carol who was still busy adjusting her scarf.

“Call me if you get held up.”

“I will.” She leaned in then, pressing a fleeting kiss against Carol’s lips, careful not to smudge either of their lipsticks, though they’d gotten into the habit of wearing similar shades to avoid having to reapply. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Carol replied, a half smile still tugging on her lips from the kiss.

Then just like that Therese was out the door – probably already running late for the bus she was supposed to be getting – leaving Carol to double check her lipstick in the mirror. Abby would only be smart with her if she came in with her lipstick smudged again.

-.-.-.-.-

Therese had worked at the Times for just over a year now and it still amazed her sometimes just how busy the place could get. Not that she didn’t love her work, in fact she’d come to learn that she thrived in a quick paced and high pressure environment – she’d even gotten a raise out of it in the short time she’d been here. Still though, there were days she sometimes wondered how she didn’t end up trampled by the journalists and editors rushing back and forth the cramped office space, sheets with notes and first draft copies flying left right and centre while she kept her head down and attempted to match up photos with the article they were meant for.

Today was one of those days as well, not that she was surprised. HUAAC had been calling in a lot of big names recently and everyone she knew was flat out following the cases and speculating on who may be next. Usually this just meant she was left to man the photo desk by herself, though today she barely even made it through the door before her boss, Andrew Wilson, was waving her over.

“Therese! Early as usual I see.” He had a smile the smile of a man trying to put people at ease, though Therese had never felt one hundred percent certain around him.

Sure it was a million miles from the tight lipped grimaces she’d received from the floor managers back in Frankenberg’s, and sure, sometimes she even felt comfortable enough to return the smile enthusiastically, though it never quite sat right with her.

“Well I know we’re busy so-“

“That we are, that we are…” Mr. Wilson cut in, seeming more interested in observing the scrambling photojournalists around him than in what Therese had to say. “I was actually wondering if you’d feel up to going out and getting some photo’s today,” he hummed then, still observing one of the interns putting stacks of negatives into different folders. His brow creased, and Therese knew once he was done speaking to her he’d be tearing the intern a new one for whatever he’d just noticed them doing wrong.

“Of course, definitely!” Since her promotion Therese had been slowly staring to take more photos and, although the brunt of her work still involved merely sorting through other people’s work for what was good and what wasn’t, she knew this meant a promotion to a full time photojournalist wasn’t too far in her future.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Mr. Wilson finally turned his attention back to her, apparently having decided to spare the intern for now.

“What’s it on?” Mr. Wilson had a habit of giving people jobs and forgetting to explain what the job actually was, something Therese had learned the hard way during her second week at the Times when he’d handed her a stack of photos then wandered off, leaving her with no choice but to spend the next half hour searching the building for him to ask what she was supposed to do with them. In the end he’d simply wanted them dumped.

“More of this red scare business,” he sighed, just as fed up with the entire situation as every other journalist in the business seemed to be at this point. Still, it sold papers. “They have Martin Walsh writing a piece on John Cromwell and I need you down at the court to get pictures of him coming outta the trial.”

“Oh, I liked his stuff…” She remembered seeing ‘The Company She Keeps’ a few years back and quite enjoying the picture.

Mr. Wilson quirked his brow at her. “Careful who you say that to Therese or you’ll be next in front of the committee.”

Therese blushed. “Of course,” she muttered, already bowing her head and shuffling away. “I’ll get a camera out of the store room and go straight to the station.”


	2. II

Carol was just finishing up with a customer when the bell above the door chimed and Therese slid in inconspicuously. She never liked making herself too known in the store, especially if Carol or Abby had customers. Instead she much preferred to wander about admiring any new pieces they’d gotten in, waiting on Carol to finish up whatever she was doing.

She wasn’t long though. Thankfully all the customer had wanted was advice on how to maintain the polished finish on the mahogany cabinet he’d purchased the previous fortnight, and Carol was able to catch up with Therese wandering around the back of the store, running her hand across the top of a teak chest of drawers.

“It’d look nice in Rindy’s room. Wouldn’t it?” Carol hummed, placing a hand over Therese’s on the drawers.

“I was just thinking that actually.” She let Carol’s hand linger for just a moment before pulling hers away, just in case. “It’d match the floors.”

“Perhaps if it’s still here in a few weeks I’ll convince Abby to let me take it for a bargain.”

“You know you’re not supposed to tell me you fill our home with discount furniture.” Carol smiled, still overwhelmed every time Therese referred to the apartment as their home.

“Then stop admiring it,” Carol scolded, turning then and walking towards the door, knowing Therese would follow. “Abby I’ll be back in an hour.”

“No you won’t,” Abby retorted, not even bothering to look up from the inventory she was filling out. “I’ll see you in two.”

“Don’t worry Abby, I’ve to be back in the office in an hour so I’ll not keep her too long,” Therese reassured their friend.

Abby just shrugged. “See you in an hour and a half then.”

Therese and Carol didn’t reply, just stepped out of the shop, bracing themselves against the unseasonably cool wind.

“You should have brought your jacket,” Therese commented, resisting the urge to run her hands up and down Carol’s shoulders to keep her warm while they walked.

“It’s three doors down, I’ll hardly catch my death.” She was wearing a thick blazer after all. “Were you doing some actual reporting today?” She added then, having noticed the camera slung around Therese’s neck in the store, but having failed to comment until now.

“Mhm,” Therese hummed, more focused on the path in front of her than the conversation – she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and she could see the faded red door of the café just a few steps away already. “John Cromwell was blacklisted today and they needed someone to capture the moment.”

“Ah I see.” They’d reached the door and Carol allowed Therese to hold it open for her to enter first. “He’s a director isn’t he?”

“Was…” Therese corrected her, stepping inside after her and following her to a table in the corner, away from other patrons. “Not much of a career left for him now.”

Carol just smiled at her as they both slid into opposite sides of the booth, though didn’t reply until after a waiter had presented them with their menus and taken their drink orders – a coffee for both of them, cappuccino for Therese and an Americano with a little room for milk for Carol.

“You’d want to be careful how you say that,” she warned playfully. “You almost sound sympathetic.”

Therese picked at the woodgrain table for a moment then looked up to meet Carol’s gaze. “What if I am?”

Carol bit her lip carefully, observing Therese and finally concluding she was serious. “Then you should lower your voice.” Her warning didn’t have the same playful edge to it this time, though her tone remained even and unstrained.

“Is it really that bad a thing to think?” Therese already knew the answer.

Carol didn’t reply. Just drummed her fingers against the leather bound menu and looked at Therese in a way that reminded Therese of how Carol had studied her when they’d first met. They stayed like this, a silent staring match until the waiter returned to the table and laid out their drinks.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“A Caesar salad.” Carol didn’t quite meet his eye when she spoke, still eying Therese closely.

“And I’ll have the Waldorf salad please.” Therese closed over her menu at the same time as Carol and they both handed them back.

“Very good, right away.” He smiled and then he was gone.

Carol finally took the opportunity to speak. “You know it’s not safe sharing those opinions in such public spaces?”

“A lot of things we say in public spaces wouldn’t be considered safe if overheard by the wrong people,” Therese pointed.

“Are you comparing our relationship to being a member of the communist party?” Carol quirked her eyebrow, not sure if she was amused or offended.

Therese just shrugged. “If people thought I was a communist I’d go to prison. If they thought I lived with a woman I’d be locked in an asylum. Both would lose me my job…” She trailed off. “They’re not that far removed really.”

“Unfortunately I believe in our current climate it is communism which is far more condemned by the masses,” Carol replied after a moment, having taken the time to mull over Therese’s statement.

“What do you mean unfortunately?” Therese shot her a suspicious look, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea of her political leanings, not even Carol. “I’m not...”

“What? Living with a woman?” Carol teased.

“Very funny.” Therese fell silent again when the waiter brought over their cutlery. “I’m not a communist,” she whispered once he’d gone. “I just…” she trailed off. “Feel bad about how they’re treated sometimes.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Carol paused, took a sip of her coffee. “As long as you do so quietly,” she tacked on, being sure to look Therese in the eye.

“You make it sound so dangerous.”

“We live in a dangerous world darling.” Carol glanced past her, out the window at the people rushing past on the street. “We’re living in a time where fear overrules our freedom,” she paused, looked back at Therese. “And there’s very little you or I can do to fix that.”

Therese nodded but remained silent, staring into space and contemplating what Carol had just said. The waiter came back with their food and left and Therese paid him no notice aside from a mumbled thanks.

“What’re you thinking?” Carol prompted after a moment, placing her fork at the edge of her plate to devote her full attention to Therese.

“That I wish it were different,” Therese admitted quietly. “That I wish we could lift the veil from people’s eyes and force them to see one another as they really are. That people should stop judging others without giving them a chance...”

Carol hummed thoughtfully, contemplating the notion for a moment. “It would be nice,” she agreed finally. “Though unfortunately if there’s one thing America hates more than people like you and I, it’s communists.”

“I know.” Therese nodded slowly. “I think that’s why I feel so bad for them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by ~foreshadowing~ 
> 
> Also thank you for the comments on the last chapter! Yiz are class.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to call this chapter 'ew, men'

She could practically taste the freedom of an early evening. One more lot of negatives to sort through and she would be out of the office by half five and home in time to have dinner with Carol. She could almost smell the chicken Carol had promised to cook, almost see the cute way Carol knotted the apron around her middle, showing off her narrow silhouette. Just one more pile of negatives and –

“Therese?” Mr. Wilson called across the office floor.

Never mind. Therese stuck her head up from the desk she’d been hunched over for the past three hours, feeling everything muscle in her back spasm at the change in position. He motioned her over with a wave of his hand through the air and she stood slowly, uncurling her weary and tightly wound muscles, resisting the urge to groan in relief at the sensation. She put her pen down on the desk and strode across the floor – the space a lot less hectic than it had been this morning now that most people had either got the story and were sitting quietly at their desks typing it up, or they’d given up for the day and gone home.

“Yes, sir?” She stopped in front of him and brushed a few stray strands of hair back behind her ear.

“Those pictures you took earlier of the Cromwell case…” He began slowly – secretly she’d always thought him to be the kind of person that took great joy in knowing when someone was clinging to his every word in hope of a compliment. “They’re quite good.” He paused again. “Some even extremely good.”

Therese tried in vain to bite back her smile. “Thank you sir. It means a lot.”

He nodded, obviously pleased with her enthusiasm. “I’m busy this evening, but if you’re free tomorrow I’d like to take you to dinner, discuss your future with the Times.” He paused, gave her a wide smile like he knew he was making her day. “How does that sound?”

-.-.-.-.-

“A dinner?” Carol almost dropped the carving knife she’d been carrying to the sink.

“A dinner,” Therese repeated, her smile now hurting her cheeks.

“Darling that’s wonderful!” Carol wiped her hands on her apron then ran to Therese, wrapping her in a hug and kissing her firmly on the forehead.

“You think?” Therese managed, not wanting to get ahead of herself in spite of how deliriously excited she’d felt.

“Darling he’s hardly inviting you to dinner to fire you,” Carol joked, pulling back from their embrace just enough to look Therese in the eye. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. “So, so proud you don’t even know.”

“Thank you,” Therese whispered, suddenly emotional.

Carol leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss; slow and sweet and delicate that left Therese chasing her lips when she pulled back. Carol smiled at how eager she was, leaning in to kiss her once more on the tip of her nose.

“Oh no. Dinner first,” she whispered, her voice only half an octave off husky. “Then your reward.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

She met Mr. Wilson the next evening after work in a small restaurant a few streets over from the New York Times offices. It wasn’t quite as upmarket as some of the places she frequented with Carol but it was nice and cosy, and the wait staff were friendly so she couldn’t really complain. Mr. Wilson was already waiting at the table when she handed in her coat, though it didn’t take her long to weave through the tables, the room still being relatively quiet so early in the evening.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” she apologised instantly. “I lost track of time and well – oh, I… thank you!” She’d reached for her seat only to have him stand and pull it out for her in one swift motion. Dining out so frequently with Carol she’d forgotten what it was like dining out with a man.

She couldn’t really say she missed it either. Having someone get her chair for her all of a sudden made her feel quite inferior in a way she hadn’t remembered feeling back when she’d eaten out with Richard. She quickly shook off the feeling and sat down; after all he was merely being polite.

“You’re quite alright. I only just got here myself,” he brushed off her apology as he sat back in his own chair and picked up the menu. “Wine?”

“Oh, yes uh…” Therese picked up her own menu, though before she’d even had a chance to turn to the wine list Mr. Wilson had called over a waiter.

“The ’48 Chardonnay please.” He flashed a smile at the waiter, then at Therese who tried her best to reciprocate.

“Yes, that would be lovely.” She hoped she didn’t sound too strained.

Really she knew she had no right to sound strained either. This was simply how things were with men she supposed. Richard hadn’t taken her out that often and any time he had she’d found the event entirely unmemorable and now with Carol – well with Carol she was an equal, and she knew men didn’t see her as such, so she would smile and be polite and leave the table later in the evening with the raise she knew she deserved, even if it meant drinking a Chardonnay when she’d really have preferred a Merlot.

“Much of a wine drinker Therese?” Mr. Wilson asked, half-heartedly examining his menu as he spoke.

“On occasion,” Therese replied, appreciating the small talk as it gave her time to figure out what she wanted to order. “I usually have more of a taste for whiskey.”

Mr. Wilson hummed his approval. “A very mature palate.” He sounded almost condescending though Therese once again brushed it off, this time by simply not saying a word. “So I was hoping we could talk a little about your work Therese,” he continued eventually, once he’d realised Therese had nothing to add to his chit chat.

“I’d like that very much sir.” This is what she’d come here for. If she was lucky she wouldn’t even need to sit through desert.

“Oh, no need to call me sir, we’re not in work now,” he laughed, waving away her formality. “Call me Andrew.”

“Andrew,” Therese repeated politely, falling silent then when the waiter came over with their wine and poured it for them – first allowing Mr. Wilson a taste test then, once it was approved, pouring just under half a glass full for each of them, and leaving the bottle on Mr. Wilson’ side of the table.

“Are you ready to order sir?” He asked then, and once more Therese found herself irrationally annoyed, this time at the way the waiter direction the question to Mr. Wilson.

“I’ll have the poached salmon please.” He smiled and handed over his menu. “And… same for you Therese?”

“Uh…” Therese for a split second was caught off guard by the absurdity of his attempt to order for her. “No actually,” she replied, regaining her composure. “I’ll have the lamb please.” She handed her menu to the waiter and smiled.

“I like a girl that can order independently,” Mr. Wilson joked once the waiter had left the table, and Therese couldn’t help but think it was to cover up how uncomfortable the situation had actually been for him.

“I guess I’m used to making up my own mind.” Therese still remembered a time when she wasn’t even sure she had a mind of her own. She quite liked how things had changed.

“No man in your life to do that for you?” His smile was different now, seedier almost, and Therese shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“No…” She kept her reply blunt.

“Shame,” Mr. Wilson mused, almost absently as he leaned back in his chair. “Every woman should have a man there to look after her.”

“I assure you I’m perfectly well looked after,” Therese replied, careful to keep any malice out of her tone. “I’m a firm believer in being able to look after yourself in fact,” she added. “You shouldn’t depend on anyone to look after you.”

She had Carol, but she also knew that was the beautiful think about how their relationship had developed. Neither of them needed the other. Carol had walked away from the relationship as had Therese, each of them knowing they didn’t need the other to survive, didn’t need one another to get by. Carol had come to her in The Ritz, and she to Carol in the Oak Room because needing one another didn’t seem to matter. What mattered is that they wanted to be in one another’s lives.  More than anything they longed to be in one another’s lives regardless of how much or little they needed to be. That’s what kept them together, and would always keep them together, desire; not necessity.

She firmly believed it was the only way one should live if they could help it at all.

The waiter came back then with their cutlery and side plates and Therese didn’t miss the way Mr. Wilson kept his eyes on her silently the entire time. She was sure not to give him a chance to speak once the waiter left.

“Here I am talking about my personal life though when you wanted to discuss my photography,” she blurted the second the waiter left, feigning embarrassment.

“Yes, your photography.” Mr. Wilson took the bait, having evidently been made somewhat uncomfortable by how unwilling Therese was to bend to his will. “Times are changing Therese,” he began slowly, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. “People aren’t as interested in the news as they were before the war. They’re too used to the stories being heroic and exciting, they don’t want to hear about anything now that the world is returning to normal.” He paused, took a sip of his wine. “They want sensation again. They want big pictures and small articles. They want the same excitement and danger as during the war. It’s why the Un-American Activities Committee is doing so well. Whether they’ll admit it or not, people like the perceived danger of living amongst communists.” He paused again to look her in the eye. “Do you enjoy danger Therese?”

The statement caught Therese off guard. “Sorry sir I –“

“Andrew,” he corrected. “I told you to call me Andrew.”

“Well no,” Therese continued, ignoring his insistence on her using his first name. “I don’t much appreciate danger. I find it gets people into trouble.”

“Don’t you think that can be fun sometimes? Getting into trouble?” The statement suddenly gave Therese the feeling of needing a shower, as if she’d spent the day crawling in sewers and grime now stuck to her every pore.

“No.” She kept her voice calm and even. “I think it can get people hurt.”

She knew now he had arranged this dinner not to offer her a promotion, but in an attempt to seduce her. Lead her on with the promise of a bright future in photo-journalism and convince her along the way that the best path to getting there would be through an illicit night of passion. What’s worse is Therese had met his wife at the Christmas party. A bubbly woman that probably wouldn’t believe her husband’s two-timing nature if she caught him in the act.

“I’m sorry, though I believe you and I have very different intentions for how this evening is going to play out.” There would be other promotions, other jobs even – maybe if he fired her now she’d even have the excuse she’d been looking for to put together and exhibition of her work.

“I don’t – “

“I think,” Therese interrupted, clearing her throat before she continued. “When you invited me here I came under the illusion we’d be speaking about my career.”

“And we are, aren’t we…” Mr. Wilson laughed.

“Are we sir? Or has this all been a thinly veiled set up for seduction?” She knew she was speaking out of turn now though she hardly cared. She deserved this promotion, she knew she did, and it infuriated her that she was now going to miss out simply because her boss considered her attractive.

She wondered how many of the women in the office had succumbed to the pressure in an attempt to prove their professional worth?

It didn’t bare thinking about.

“Well you can’t fault a man for trying…” Mr. Wilson attempted to sound casual though something about his smile left Therese feeling on edge.

Therese sighed and picked up her handbag from the floor next to her. She intended on leaving now before the food arrived and she was forced to sit through a meal with this man as well.

“Therese wait.” Mr. Wilson held his hands up in symbolic defeat. “You’re right, I’m being too forward,” he chuckled. “Though you’re not right in saying I didn’t want to talk about your career.” This caught Therese’s attention again and she loosened her grasp on her handbag. “I’m offering you a six month trial as a junior photo-journalist. It’ll be taking the photos no one else wants to take, and not a lot of fun but if you do well,” he paused and shrugged. “Then I can’t see why you wouldn’t make an exceptional photographer.”

Therese genuinely smiled for the first time all evening. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“Oh don’t worry my dear I’ll make sure you don’t. We’ll be working together a lot after all.” He winked at her. “Maybe once we get to know one another a little better my advances won’t be so unwarranted.”

Therese felt her stomach drop.


	4. IV

She’d felt like crying when she’d returned home to Carol later that evening. Carol had noticed the second she’d walked through the door as well and wrapped her in a hug before she’d even had a chance to explain what had upset her.

“You didn’t get the raise?” Carol murmured softly into her hairline, still clutching her close to her chest.

“No… I did…” She hesitated, unsure of how exactly to broach the subject.

“Then what?” Carol pulled away from the embrace just far enough to look her in the eye.

“Mr. Wilson wants to sleep with me.” There was no point in tip-toeing around the issue. “And I think he thinks if he gives me the promotion… I will.”

“Oh…” Carol was obviously at a loss for how to respond. Sure she knew what men were like, hell she’d been married to one for long enough, though she sometimes took for granted that things like this wouldn’t happen to Therese. That people would somehow know she was taken even though she could never wear a ring on her finger.

“And I don’t know what to do…” Therese continued, till trying to hold off tears.

“Well, not sleeping with him would be a nice start,” Carol joked, attempting to lighten the tension and succeeding when she got a small giggle and a smack in the arm from Therese.

“Obviously,” the younger woman huffed. “I mean I don’t know whether to quit or to try and stick it out for six months in the hopes of getting a position that doesn’t have me working under him.”

“It’s up to you,” Carol shrugged, reaching forward then to tuck a stray hair behind Therese’s ear. “I’m making enough money to take care of both of us until you find new work if you do decide it’s not something you can put yourself through, though,” she continued, already seeing Therese open her mouth in protest. “I also know how absolutely you despise the idea of being a kept woman.”

Therese smiled. “You know me too well.”

Carol leaned in and kissed her sweetly. “That’s because I love you.”

“Show me how much you love me?” Therese pleaded suddenly, just as Carol pulled back from the kiss. “I’ve had his eyes on me all evening,” she explained. “I want you to help me forget.”

Carol smiled wickedly. “How about I fuck you until you forget?” She whispered; her breath hot against the shell of Therese’s ear.

Therese nodded desperately, and clung to the older woman as Carol hitched up her skirt and pushed her back against the hall wall, one hand holding her up while the other fumbled with the buttons of her shirt until the material was pushed aside and Carol’s hand was free to roam Therese’s chest. Her teeth sank into Therese’s lower lip and her mouth swallowed the younger woman’s whimper while her hand moved down to her leg, inching up and over the top of her stockings to the patch of bare flesh that lay between them and Therese’s cotton underwear. Therese arched her lower back off the wall towards the touch.

She knew she should try and manoeuvre them towards the bedroom, even to the couches in the living room, knew it would allow for a better angle for, well, everything. The second her hand ran over Therese’s underwear though she knew any attempt to move now would be in vein.

She felt Therese’s hips buckle down against her and she pushed the underwear aside, rolling her fingers in circles over her clit first then slipping them inside. It wasn’t long after that. She barely had the opportunity to build a rhythm before Therese was coming undone around her and she was supporting the younger woman’s weight against the wall, waiting for her to regain her composure. Once she had Carol led them both over to the couches and sat down, allowing Therese to lay her head in her lap.

“Thank you,” Therese murmured after a few moments, her eyes closed happily while Carol ran her fingers through her hair. “I think I needed that.”

“You don’t say,” Carol teased, and Therese smacked her on the knee but said nothing.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, both of them still mulling over the issue Therese now had with her boss, though neither vocalising their concerns until after about twenty minutes or so Therese finally spoke up.

“I think I’m going to take the job,” she whispered, looking up at the strong outline of Carol’s jaw.

“You sure?” Carol dipped her head to look down at her.

“I am,” she shrugged. “I mean what’s the worst that can happen?”

Carol just smiled. She couldn’t bring herself to answer the question.

-.-.-.-.-

“He did what?” Abby almost dropped the antique vase she’d been placing back on its shelf after dusting.

“Mhm,” Carol hummed, standing behind her not really doing anything.

She’d told Abby the whole story the second she’d gotten into work that morning. Not that she’d had much of a choice; Abby had taken one look at her and seen she was upset.

“Bastard,” Abby hummed, turning now to face her friend. “Fucking bastard.”

Carol just shrugged.

“And she’s taking the job?”

“What choice does she have?” Carol sighed. “She wants to be a photographer.”

“Oh please, you have enough money for her not to worry,” Abby scoffed. “She could work on building a portfolio; find a new job… set up a gallery, whatever it is she wants to do.”

Carol laughed at the very idea. “You obviously don’t know Therese very well.”

“Well I’m not the one sleeping with her,” Abby quipped. “I don’t have to.”

Carol opened her mouth to reply just as the bell above the door rang and an elderly couple shuffled into the shop. She fell silent and turned towards them. They’d been in last week looking for a cabinet to hold their china and Carol had called them the day before informing them they’d just gotten something in from Maine they might like to have a look at.

“Ah Mr.  and Mrs. Bergan, you’ve come to see the piece.” She drifted over toward the couple, her conversation with Abby could wait.

-.-.-.-

“Therese?” Mr. Wilson called her over the second she got through the office door.

“Sir.” She smiled warmly when she reached him in an attempt put yesterday’s events behind her.

“Grab a camera dear,” he told her with a smile. “There’s another case going on today and people are going to want photos.”

Therese nodded. “Whatever you need.” She turned to leave, though stopped when he spoke again.

“Then come and find me, I’ve not been out in the field much recently an I thought I might tag along to keep you company… Give you some pointers while we’re at it.”

She tried to hide her grimace.

-.-.-.-.-

“You know it’s the audacity of men that really gets me sometimes,” Abby began.

They hadn’t spoken about what Carol had told her since this morning, with a steady stream of customers keeping them pre-occupied. Now though it was coming up to lunch time and with the last customer happily out the door, and an ornate china set ready to ship to their address, Abby was free to say what had evidently been on her mind all day.

“You and me both,” Carol agreed, finishing writing up the delivery slip and placing it with the others they’d accumulate today so far.

“Really though,” Abby continued, walking around the counter to stand next to Carol. “How is it that men can have such an inflated sense of self-importance that they _presume_ any woman without a ring on their finger automatically wants to go to bed with them?”

“Oh please,” Carol grimaced. “Please do not give me that visual image.”

Abby just shrugged. “Therese has a smart head on her shoulders,” she reasoned. “I’m sure she’d aim a well-placed kick between his legs before she let him assume anything about her.”

“It’d be more than a well-placed kick if I –“ She was interrupted by the sound of the bell above the door, and both women looked in time to see Therese entering the shop, a man in front of her holding the door.

“Thank you,” she murmured, not quite meeting his eye then making a bee-line for the counter.

Carol’s gaze didn’t follow Therese though. Instead it lingered on the man that followed behind her now, who she could only assume from Therese’s apparent aversion to him was Mr. Wilson, whose gaunt face and slim build gave the impression of a sewing needle someone had hung a shirt and trousers on – not at all what she’d imagined. She’d pictured him as round and small, possibly with scars he’d picked up during the war, but instead he had the look of a man that had managed to avoid the war entirely; the kind of man that had sat behind a desk leafing through pictures of the young men and women sacrificing their lives, rather than going out and joining them on the battle field. His hair oil and well-trimmed moustache sealed her understanding of why Therese was so uncomfortable around him as well. They only emphasised his narrow, rat like features and left Carol wondering why Therese hadn’t taken issue with him earlier.

“Carol,” Therese breathed out, and Carol’s eyes darted towards her for only a second. “This is Mr. Wilson.”

Carol nodded curtly but didn’t say a word.

“How do you do?” Mr. Wilson greeted in a booming voice just half an octave off friendly. He extended his hand to her as well and for a minute she toyed with the idea of not accepting it, though years of etiquette training finally got the better of her.

“Pleasure,” she hummed, her limp hand shake ending almost immediately.

“And this is Abby,” Therese continued, and Carol didn’t miss the way Abby leaned back against the wall behind the counter and crossed her arms the second Therese introduced her.

“A pleasure.” He seemed more hesitant this time about extending his hand.

“I’m sure it is,” Abby bit back roughly, never having had the same patience for etiquette training as Carol. “You gotta penchant for one off antique items or what?” She added then, her tone no more friendly than before though Mr. Wilson smiled anyway.

“Well I can certainly appreciate the work that went into him,” he began conversationally and Carol marveled, not for the first time in her life, at man’s ability to presume the interest of every woman in the room lay in them, even when it most clearly did not. “Though perhaps I’ll brows your collection another time, today I was merely keeping Therese company.”

“Well Therese if you’d told me you were so lonely I’d have bought you a dog,” Abby didn’t miss a beat and Carol had to bite back a smile while Therese fought to hide her blush.

Mr. Wilson just laughed, unable to comprehend that perhaps Abby didn’t like him. “Well as useful as a dog maybe around the house I fear in the world of work they are not nearly as appreciated, and I simply found it in my duty to escort her here from the court houses considering I sent her all the way over there this morning,” he explained. “After all, you never know who you’ll meet out on the streets.”

“No…” Abby paused dramatically and gave him a pointed once over. “You don’t.”

Carol attempted to mask her laughter behind a cough. Mr. Wilson just looked perplexed.

“Yes well I must get back to the office, let you ladies get on with your lunch.” He paused, turned to Therese. “I’ll see you later; we can go over the photo’s you took.”

Therese looked up at him and smiled awkwardly, hoping her cheeks weren’t too red. “Yes, see you later sir.”

He turned then and left, casting a final weary look over his shoulder at Carol and Abby before exiting the shop. The three women stood in silence then for a minute, Abby leaning smugly against the back wall, Carol attempting to regain her composure, and Therese taking stock of what had just happened. Eventually Therese sighed, looking up at Carol.

“I presume Abby knows about my work issues then?” She dead panned.

“What? No, that’s how Abby treats any man she speaks to,” Carol teased and Therese finally laughed.

“What can I say,” Abby shrugged. “I’m a flirt.”

Therese laughed. Carol just rolled her eyes, used to her friend by now.

“How were things this morning anyway?” She asked then, her fingers itching to reach out and hold Therese’s hand which rested on the counter.

“Fine…” Therese informed her absently, taking a moment to mull over today’s events in her own head before continuing. “I mean we were working. He’s not going to be outwardly flirtatious when we’re working. He did ask me to go for lunch with him though and I figured if he said anything it would be then so I told him I was meeting you. I hope that’s alright, I know we didn’t arrange –“

Carol waved off the end of her sentence. “More than alright. You know I love any excuse to see you…”

“Disgusting…” Abby muttered, though Therese and Carol both ignored her.

“… And it’s not nearly as busy today as it usually is on a Wednesday so I could actually take a lunch hour if you want,” Carol continued over Abby’ protest.

“Lunch would be nice.” Therese nodded and smiled softly – something about being around Carol instantly having her forget how terrible her day had been.

“Let me just…” Carol trailed off and grabbed her handbag from behind the counter. “Okay…” She muttered, straightening then and fishing through it to make sure she had her purse. “Shall we?” She stepped around the counter to Therese and they left the shop side by side.

“Do you mind looking after the store for an hour Abby? No of course not Carol, you and Therese take your time. Oh thank you Abby, how considerate. Don’t mention it, what’re friends for…” Abby huffed, pushing herself away from the wall and taking the dusting stuff out from under the counter to preoccupy herself while Carol was gone. “Some people…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Abby would absolutely tear chunks outta Mr. Wilson if given half a chance.


End file.
